I have stumbled
through a mire of years
and arrived,
unfashionably late
and inexcusably dishevelled,
in a place
I once knew
all too well.
If there are to be
seven rings of hell,
this must be
the third:
to walk amongst
familiar faces,
having journeyed long
and learned the wide,
weary world,
having materially
matured,
all achey limbs
and eyes lined
by time
like trunks
of great trees,
but to feel
just as green,
separate,
and unseen
as at the start.
Another lesson
from the wide,
weary world realised:
you must go back
the way you came
if you truly wish
to know the way.
Humble beginnings
must be followed by
humble middles,
if we are ever
to become.
Back,
back we must go
to journey on.
pm poetry 